


Intention; I Feel Inventive

by tomato_greens



Series: Listen, Listen - music ficlets [11]
Category: Macdonald Hall - Gordon Korman
Genre: First Time, M/M, Underage - Freeform, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomato_greens/pseuds/tomato_greens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just that Boots is so <i>oblivious</i>––Bruno feels desperate and obvious, flushed with desire where he's curled up in his quilt, but Boots keeps on getting ready to go swim laps like he can't hear Bruno's heart attempting manslaughter from the inside out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intention; I Feel Inventive

**Author's Note:**

> [Brass in Pocket](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMzSe6PbjMI) by the Pretenders.

It's just that Boots is so _oblivious_ ––Bruno feels desperate and obvious, flushed with desire where he's curled up in his quilt, but Boots keeps on getting ready to go swim laps like he can't hear Bruno's heart attempting manslaughter from the inside out. The door clicks shut behind him and Bruno tries to struggle clear from his blankets. He only succeeds in freeing his head and most of his left leg before he has to give up, tied in knots and frustrated. 

He glances over at his bedside table; it's not even six o'clock in the morning yet, and the weak crepuscular light creeping in from the window recasts the room in grayscale. The minutes stretch out invitingly, and Bruno figures in for a penny, in for a pound of flesh, and his hand inches downwards.

His eyes are closed and his other fingers are wandering––an indulgence, when he usually favors precision, silence, and speed, the object of most of his fantasies six feet and a thin dream away from finding out––when the door opens unexpectedly and Bruno is caught red-handed.

"Uh," says Boots, and shuts the door while Bruno frantically stuffs himself back under the quilt as best he can while still tangled up in it. It opens again, more cautiously, and Boots's voice wanders in, "Are you decent?"

"Ugh," says Bruno, "yes."

Boots tiptoes in, hand clapped over his eyes. "Sorry," he says, "some kind of trickster put Jell-O in the pool and practice was canceled. Hey, it wasn't you, was it?"

"When have I done anything like that without you being involved?" Bruno demands, almost hurt enough to forget his all-encompassing humiliation. "Never, is when, in case you were wondering."

"Right," Boots agrees, and then is silent and unmoving, tensed like he's about to run somewhere, although their room is the same size as a jail cell and the only place to run is _out_. 

"Would you mind giving me some privacy so I could get dressed or something?" Bruno asks plaintively after a long moment, despite the fact that it is 6:17 AM and it is patently clear that Bruno does not need to get dressed for another hour and a half at least. 

Boots nods, which is irritatingly ambiguous––does he mind or doesn't he?––and doesn't do anything more, hand still protecting his eyes from the apparently hideous sight that is Bruno's mostly-covered naked body. Bruno clears his throat, and Boots lowers the hand, but still doesn't make a move to conveniently take a shower or anything. 

On second thought, that's an excellent idea. "Never mind, I'll go," Bruno sighs, rolling his eyes, and gathers the blanket around him in preparation for his egress to the bathroom. A weight settling by his feet stops him; when he reemerges from the blanket Boots is sitting on the end of his bed, staring at him. "What?" says Bruno, annoyed.

"I just––" says Boots, and makes an impotent, miserable sound in the back of his throat. Bruno's heart clenches. "I can't––"

"You can't what," Bruno says, because for maybe the first time in his life he doesn't have any idea what Boots is trying to say.

"Don't hate me," Boots whispers, and leans forward. 

As kisses go, it's probably pretty bad; Bruno got his first kiss nearly a year ago and he knows he saw Boots and Mary Ellen in a dark corner during the last Macdonald Hall and Scrimmage's Oldest Established Permanent Floating Discothèque Party, but even so it's clear that neither of them knows what he's doing, not really, and their noses bump, their teeth clacking painfully together. But then someone sighs and mouths open a little wider and it stays weird but gets a little better, and then Boots brings his hand up to cup Bruno's jaw and it gets better still, and eventually Bruno finds himself tipped back into the bed, Boots kneeling over him, the air between their mouths warm and sweet, breath shared and tension divided.

Cathy gave Bruno lessons on how to be seductive last winter, a joke that turned into an embarrassing one-night-only take-no-virginities stand-off that they refuse to talk about by mutual agreement, but suddenly, with Boots curious above him, coquettishly tossing his hair doesn't seem like it will do the trick. So instead he goes on his old standby, sheer mindless bravado, raising one hand to Boots's cheek and stroking it lightly. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," says Boots, tawny and golden in the first dawning rays of sun.


End file.
